


Accidental Timing

by HaMandCheezIts



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Car Accident, Decent Dave/Jerk Dave, Doc to the rescue, Gen, Marty's a "bruiser", Minor Injuries, Pre-Canon, Seatbelts are good, Shaking the Past, Twin Pines Timeline, Uncle Emmett, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaMandCheezIts/pseuds/HaMandCheezIts
Summary: Marty's injured in an accident, and for once it's not Doc's fault. But he is the first person Marty thinks to ask for help.The woman at the ER desk had finished with her phone call, and she was now regarding Doc. “Can I help you, sir?”“Yes, yes.” Emmett leaned in closer, his nervousness renewed now that he was so close to finding out what exactly was wrong with his young friend. “I’m Emmett Brown. An Officer Ryan contacted me, and said that my fr – my nephew is here. Marty McFly. He’d been in an automobile accident?”The woman consulted a clipboard on her desk, then typed a few characters on a keyboard and studied her computer monitor. “Martin McFly?” she said, after a moment that to Doc felt like an hour. “Fifteen years old?”“Yes,” Emmett repeated. “Can you tell me where he is, please?”
Relationships: Dave McFly & Marty McFly, Emmett "Doc" Brown & Marty McFly
Comments: 15
Kudos: 89





	Accidental Timing

**Author's Note:**

> This story is pre-canon, set in 1984, in the Twin Pines universe/timeline. Marty is fifteen-going-on-sixteen. 
> 
> I don't have too much of a hint about what movie Marty and his bandmates see, but if you know which "dance" movie came out in February of 1984, you'll probably figure it out. 
> 
> -ck
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own _Back to the Future_ , Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly (or any of his family members) or Jennifer Parker. I have created several original characters who have parts (or are just mentioned) in this story. 
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.
> 
>  _Band-Aid_ and _Tylenol_ are registered trademarks of Johnson & Johnson.

**Friday, February 24th, 1984**

**11:35 P.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

It was late, but he was commonly up later. Even when he had his many clocks set to give their combined alerts at the top of the hour, he had grown so accustomed to the noise that he barely counted the chimes. They were hard to decipher anyway; although the clocks were synchronized, the ones that signified the hour chimed at different tempos. So Emmett had failed to recognize that it was eleven p.m., and he probably would have also missed the top of the next hour, had he been undisturbed and allowed to continue working on bundling delicate electrical cables into a heavy-duty tube-like covering. But the unexpected ringing of the phone caused the scientist to automatically glance at his clocks _(Who is calling at 11:35 at night?)_ , set down the partially completed work, and move to the telephone. 

“Emmett Brown speaking,” he said into the mouthpiece.

There was a pause, then an unfamiliar adult voice said _“Is this Doctor Emmett Brown?”_

Doc sighed, decided an impolite remark wasn’t worth it, and answered, “Yes, this is he.”

_“This is Officer Ryan of the Hill Valley Police Department. I’m calling to let you know that your nephew Martin was involved in an accident this evening.”_

The alarming remark immediately sent a burst of thoughts and questions surging through Emmett’s consciousness. _Accident? What kind of accident? Where was Marty this evening? That new movie, the one about the dancing, he was going to that movie with his bandmate friends. Did he get to the movie? What happened? Why am **I** being called, and not his parents? **Martin**? This man must obviously be unknown to Marty, to be calling him by his full name. And why is he doing that? Is Marty hurt badly enough that someone had to go through his wallet to figure out who he was? No, no, that doesn’t make sense, he must be awake and aware, otherwise how would the authorities have thought to call **me?** Does Marty even have anything in his wallet with his given name printed on it? Yes, he does, he just received his learner’s permit, the kid nearly broke his face smiling when he showed you that, remember? _

_Nephew?_

The information raced across his mind in a matter of seconds; the silence was so short as to be negligible. Out of the myriad of questions, the one that came to the forefront was: “What kind of accident?” He asked the question breathlessly, not wanting to hear the answer and yet desperately needing to know.

_“A minor traffic accident. Your nephew was a passenger in a car that was hit by another vehicle. The accident was not severe but Martin was not wearing a seat belt, and he was mildly injured when he collided with the rear of the seat in front of him. He was sent to the Hill Valley General emergency department, along with the other occupants of the struck vehicle.”_

Emmett felt his heart, which he just now realized had been racing, begin to settle somewhat. “Mildly injured? So he should be all right?”

_“He should be discharged within the hour, I believe. I’ve been calling all of the parents, as the children are minors, and need to be picked up by an adult. How soon can I tell the ER receptionist that you’ll arrive?”_

  


In a small place like Hill Valley, one could travel from the north city limits to the south city limits in just over an hour, less when the traveler exceeded posted maximum speeds. Emmett consistently followed the displayed speed limits, but he didn’t have to traverse a great distance to get to Hill Valley General, and he pulled his van into the parking area roughly sixteen minutes after ending his conversation with Officer Ryan. He arrived at the ER desk only three minutes later. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter, glaring at the young woman who was currently on the phone. While he waited, he occasionally glanced around the waiting area, in the case that his assistant might show up there, ready to be discharged. _But if they need me to sign something for him to be released, how will that work? I’m not any relation to him._

_Why didn’t Marty call his parents?_

The woman at the desk had finished with her phone call, and she was now regarding Doc. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, yes.” Emmett leaned in closer, his nervousness renewed now that he was so close to finding out what exactly was wrong with his young friend. “I’m Emmett Brown. An Officer Ryan contacted me, and said that my fr – my nephew is here. Marty McFly. He’d been in an automobile accident?” 

The woman consulted a clipboard on her desk, then typed a few characters on a keyboard and studied her computer monitor. “Martin McFly?” she said, after a moment that to Doc felt like an hour. “Fifteen years old?”

“Yes,” Emmett repeated. “Can you tell me where he is, please?”

The young woman stood, pointing to the right. “Past the desk, through those double doors, go to the end of the hall and turn right. There will be a nurses' desk, and your nephew should be in a cubicle across from it. I think it’ll be the only occupied one; he’s the last one here from that accident.”

Doc thanked the woman before striding off in the direction she had indicated. Soon he was at a second desk with a second woman standing behind it. Emmett nodded briskly at the nurse, hoping he looked as if he belonged where he was, and then moved to a curtained cubicle across from the nurse’s station. The scientist parted the curtain slowly, peering around it in trepidation.

He found Marty alone in the small room, lying on his back in the bed. He had one arm crossing over his face, his nose nearly buried in his elbow, as if he was blocking out the light of the room. The teen had grown an inch or two since he’d started working for Emmett, but he was still shorter and slighter than most boys his age, and when compounded by the fact that the front of Marty’s shirt was splattered with blood, he looked impossibly young and vulnerable. Emmett stared at the bloodstains, trying to imagine the source or the injury, and he made a sound that was a cross between a gasp and a soft moan.

At the sound, Marty lifted his arm, which had been trapping a small gel-type ice pack against his face. Moving the ice pack, he looked out puffy eyes at the new resident of the room. “Oh, Doc,” he said, in a soft exhalation of relief, “you came.”

Emmett was briefly frozen, staring at Marty’s unobstructed face. The teen’s nose was noticeably swollen, as well as reddened and bruised, and there was still a crust of blood at the bottom of both nostrils. In addition, slight bruising was present under his eyes, blossoming out from the bridge of his nose, which sported a nasty-looking cut. Doc now understood the source of the blood on Marty’s shirt, and he winced in sympathy, knowing from experience how much a solid hit to the nose hurts. He’d injured himself in the same fashion twice in his life, once as a boy when a neighbor had hit him in the face with a baseball bat (Emmett had been unwisely standing behind the other lad when the boy had gone into a backswing), and again as a young college student, when he’d attempted to enter a classroom door at the same time that another pupil was exiting, thus receiving an unexpected blow to the nose. Neither time did Emmett break his nose, but he still clearly remembered each occasion as extremely unpleasant.

“You okay, Doc?”

Emmett shook his head as if to clear it, then moved to the head of the bed, letting the curtain close behind him. “I think I should be asking you that question. Are you all right, Marty? Your injury appears incredibly painful.”

Marty lifted his shoulders in a weak shrug. “Uh, they gave me some Tylenol to take the edge off. And the ice helped a little, but it’s not really cold anymore.” Dropping the gel pack, Marty reached up to touch his nose gently, hissing softly. “I can’t believe I didn’t break it – it hurt like hell when it happened.”

Taking a seat in a nearby plastic chair, Doc gazed at his young friend carefully. “What did happen tonight, Marty? I received a phone call from a police officer, informing me that you’d been in an accident.”

Marty threw up one hand in agitation; Emmett saw it was smeared with dried blood, and was curious why no one at the hospital had yet to cleanse it. “It wasn’t even Paul’s fault!” the fifteen-year-old complained, his voice slightly nasal as he raised his voice. “We left the theater, and we were heading to his place – we were all gonna crash there, y'know, since tomorrow’s Saturday?” Doc nodded, and Marty went on. “Paul was driving through an intersection – on a green light – and this truck side-swiped us. We were all joking around, singing and talkin’ about the movie. . . So no one saw the truck until it hit us. The guy wasn’t paying attention, he was looking at something else or playing with his radio or something, and he ran a red light. After he hit us, Paul lost control of the car. We spun some, and then hit a tree head-on.”

Emmett inhaled sharply, recalling how the police officer had described the accident as ‘minor.’ Hitting a tree head-on didn't sound inconsequential to the scientist. He straightened in his chair, looking worriedly at Marty. “That sounds awful.”

“Yeah,” Marty whispered. He dropped his gaze, and Doc saw the teen blink several times. “I’ve never been in a car accident before. It was pretty scary.” He swallowed audibly before continuing. “It could’ve been a lot worse, though. The guy in the truck was fine, he really just clipped us, and Paul didn’t hit the tree _that_ hard. It definitely stopped us, and Paul’s dad’s car had to be towed, but nobody got . . . killed.” The boy closed his eyes briefly, then looked back at Doc. “But it’s bad enough. Paul’s barely had his license a month. This is really gonna screw up his dad’s insurance, and who knows when Paul’s gonna be able to drive again.”

Doc smiled gently. “If it was in fact the other driver’s fault, things shouldn’t be that terrible.”

“I don’t know, Paul was really upset. This was the first time he was able to drive at night with us in the car, and we get into a lousy accident! I guess the only good thing is he didn’t get hurt. But I think if he had been, his dad might go easier on him. Sympathy and all that.”

“Paul wasn’t injured?”

Marty shook his head marginally, as any larger movements made his face ache. “No. He was the only one who wasn’t, other than some pain from the seat belt. Isaac was in the front and jammed his knee. Pete was in the back with me, and he smacked his head on the window when the car went sideways after we got hit. Neither of them got hurt bad, but the cops wanted everyone checked out."

"The officer who called me said as much," Doc said, "but the receptionist up front indicated you were the only one here from the accident." 

Marty answered with a look that was half pout, half irritation. "Yeah, the other guys were barely here at all before they got to go home. I guess I got the worst of it. When Paul hit the tree, I smacked my face into the headrest - the uh, the metal part.” The teen looked down at his blood-speckled shirt, his expression somewhat sickened. “I was the only one that got to ride in the ambulance. When the cops saw what a mess I was, with blood everywhere, they wouldn’t let me come here in the cop car, like the rest of the guys. It didn’t matter that it was just my nose and not my head; they wouldn’t let me move until the ambulance got there. Then, even though the paramedics put that gross gauze stuff in my nose, I’d already bled so much on my jacket that the docs here trashed it, said it was too bloody to be saved.” His face now took on a rueful expression, and with the bruises and the apparent stress and exhaustion, Marty looked fairly pitiful. “I guess I got a lot of blood in the back of the car, too.”

Emmett exhaled in a slow sigh, looking down at the floor. He was still unclear on what his role was here, in this after hours situation. True, Marty had developed a habit of "crashing" at his place after working exceptionally late in the lab (or, on the occasions when he would just show up, usually to vent about his family, he'd end up staying at Emmett's in order to avoid them). Was that avoidance why he had been notified of Marty’s accident either over, or before, the boy’s family? In a way Emmett felt honored, being someone whom the teen obviously believed would come to his aid in a crisis. But he also thought it was possible he was being taken advantage of. Maybe Marty had only called him in the hopes of keeping the accident, and the means of his injury, hidden from his parents. Because, of course, Marty’s failure to wear a seat belt had definitely contributed to the teen’s current suffering.

Doc raised his head, waited until he was sure Marty was looking at him, and then asked, “Why weren’t you wearing your seat belt, Marty?”

The teen sputtered a few words. “What – why do – how do you – “ He crossed his arms defensively. “Pete wasn’t wearing his, either!”

The response came out so quickly, so automatically, that Emmett had a sudden memory of his parents, and of how they had often spoken a similar phrase.

“I don’t care about what Peter was doing, Marty. I care about you.”

Apparently, Marty made the same connection. “Jeez, you sound like my folks.”

Emmett smiled softly at the gripe. “You haven’t answered my question.” But before Marty could reply, the scientist continued. “You’re in driver’s education this semester. Have they started showing you those films portraying the grave injuries individuals can acquire when they don’t wear their seat belts?”

Marty’s eyes widened; he winced at the pain that produced, and squinted instead. “Don’t tell me they showed those things back when you were learning to drive!”

“Not exactly.” Doc was still smiling. “Learning to drive back in the 1930s was quite different from how young people are educated now. But those films have existed in one form or another since the ‘50s.”

“No shit.” Marty let out a low whistle. ”Heavy.” He then raised himself on his elbows, peering out toward the nurses’ desk. “Wonder what’s taking them so long. I want to get out of here.”

“Nice try, but I’m not going to be distracted, Marty.” Emmett rose, again coming to stand near the bed. He placed a hand on the teen’s arm. “This is serious. You could have been badly injured. I am disappointed that you acted so irresponsibly and recklessly. Do you realize how lucky you were to receive only mild injuries?”

After briefly meeting Doc’s eyes, the boy glanced away. “Doesn’t feel mild,” he muttered.

Doc gently squeezed Marty’s arm. “Next time you get into a vehicle, remember how you’re feeling right now. I guarantee that will be the best reminder when it comes to fastening your seat belt.”

Marty leaned back, letting his head rest against the pillow. “Yeah,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

It wasn’t long after that when the ER doctor arrived to the cubicle, startling Marty out of a near-doze. “Ah, you must be Martin’s uncle,” the doctor said pleasantly, extending a hand to Emmett. “I’m Doctor Polk.”

The physician and the scientist shook hands. “Emmett Brown,” Doc said, purposefully not identifying himself as a doctor, as that typically made things confusing in a hospital setting. He then paused mid-handshake, realizing that "Brown" and "McFly" didn't exactly make sense. “I’m an uncle on Marty’s mother’s side,” he said next. _But how would that be? I would have to be married to one of Marty’s aunts. . . But aren’t they both already married? And didn’t Marty say one of his aunts moved to Nevada? Or was that an uncle?_

Breaking the handshake, Emmett ran a hand through his already wild hair. “I’m Marty’s great-uncle, actually – “

“ _Uncle_ Emmett,” Marty said quickly, his voice low.

If the doctor thought the scattered introduction – or Marty’s warning tone – were peculiar, he didn’t comment. Instead Doctor Polk examined Marty a final time, after which he declared the patient well enough to be discharged. “I’ll have a nurse bring the discharge and aftercare papers,” the physician informed Emmett, before turning back to Marty. “You take care of yourself, young man. I don’t want to see you back in my ER again." His face was serious, his voice slightly stern. Then he smiled, gave the teen a reassuring pat on the leg, and exited the cubicle.

Marty sat up on the bed, letting his legs dangle over the edge. He looked at his watch, a snazzy black Casio with a calculator and an alarm, a present from Doc on his fifteenth birthday. “Damn, it’s after midnight,” he commented. “No wonder I’m tired.”

“I have a feeling the preceding events may have had a hand in that, too,” Doc said dryly. “You need to get home and get some rest.” Marty nodded, then wiped a hand over his brow, sighing wearily.

The movement again brought the teen’s bloodstained hand into view. Gazing about the cubicle, Emmett saw a small sink set into the short counter. Going to the sink, he moistened several paper towels, then returned to his friend. “Let me see your hand,” he said quietly, and when Marty offered the hand Doc had indicated, the older man set about washing off the dried blood. Marty watched without speaking, struggling to keep silent; he found his breath was hitching with barely held-in sobs, and he had to suck at his cheeks and bite down to keep from crying. There was just something so personal, so familiar, in Doc’s gentle manner; it reminded Marty of how, when he was a small child, his mother would kiss a scraped knee or a bumped elbow. He’d be crying hysterically over a trivial injury, one that hadn’t even necessitated a Band-Aid, and his mother’s calm, loving touch had been the cure-all.

Once he felt the hand had been sufficiently cleaned, Emmett looked up at Marty, and was alarmed to see tears shining in the swollen eyes. “Marty, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Is your hand inj– “

Marty instantly shook his head, and because of the sudden movement, as well as in reaction to Doc’s genuine concern, the tears started to fall. Embarrassed, Marty quickly raised both hands to scrub at his face, forgetting briefly that his nose and eyes were bruised and aching. “Oh, shit, _ow_ ,” he moaned, and then lost it completely.

Doc stood rigidly for a moment, staring in bewilderment at the sobbing boy. In the year and a half that Marty had been working for him, Emmett had seen the teen display many of the typical emotions: anger, jealously, yearning, joy, depression, fear, love. But Emmett had never seen the boy actually weep. Even on the rare occasions ( _or maybe not so rare_ , Doc thought with chagrin) that Marty had been injured in an experiment gone awry, the teen had cursed and winced and maybe had some tears of pain, but he’d never really _cried_ , not like he was doing now.

But, Marty had said it himself; he’d never been in a car accident before. The trauma of that, coupled with the injury and then the ambulance ride, all without a known adult to assure him that everything would be fine. . .

Emmett reached forward, gingerly taking Marty into his arms. As the teen was seated on an elevated bed, he was at roughly the same level as Doc, but Marty dipped his head and sobbed into the older man’s shoulder. Emmett cradled his head, shushing him. “It’s okay, Marty, you’re okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”

As fast as Marty had crumbled, that was the speed at which he tried to recover. The fifteen-year-old fought to control himself, drawing back part-way. “I’m sorry, Doc, I’m getting tears and junk on your shirt,” he said, again rubbing at his nose. A smear of blood appeared on his hand, and the boy’s eyes widened, his distress returning. “Oh, no, I’m bleeding again!” he cried, his voice ratcheting up in panic.

Emmett reached for a paper towel he hadn’t already soiled. “I’m sure it’s just the dried blood, remoistened. Here, wipe your nose. _Carefully_.”

Marty did as Doc directed, very cautiously dabbing at his nose. He also wiped the damp blood on his hand onto his jeans, causing the scientist to grimace. But after Marty had cleaned his face and saw that Doc was right, and that his nose hadn’t started bleeding afresh, the teen calmed significantly. He cast a sidelong look at his friend. “I’m sorry for freaking out on you, Doc.”

Emmett had retrieved the trash can, and held it out so Marty could throw the used paper towels into it. “It’s fine, Marty,” he said, smiling kindly. “I’m just glad I’m able to be here for you.”

Marty smiled back, truly touched by the heartfelt words. “Me too, Doc.”

Emmett’s smile gradually flattened out. He lowered the trash can, then regarded Marty somberly. “ _Why_ am I here, though? Why didn’t you call your parents?”

Marty rolled his eyes, shrugging weakly. “I can’t.”

Doc shook his head, tightening his mouth into a frown. “Marty, you can’t prevent your parents from learning about this. Not only were you transported here by ambulance, but I’m sure Paul’s father will contact them to inquire on your health, and – “

“No, Doc, that’s not what I’m trying to do. I _can’t_ call them. They’re not – “ Marty broke off as well, as the nurse stepped into the cubicle with the discharge papers. “I’ll tell you later, Uncle Emmett,” Marty murmured.

  


They were walking out to the parking area roughly five minutes later. Doc had neglected to lock the van in his haste, but the vehicle seemed untouched. Both climbed inside, and Marty secured his seat belt without prompting. The fifteen-year-old felt utterly drained, and he sat back, closing his eyes. He’d been sitting quietly for several moments before he realized the van hadn’t started. Opening his eyes, he looked in confusion at the scientist staring at him. “Doc? Why aren’t we going anywhere?”

Emmett ran his hands lightly over the steering wheel. “And where do you think I’ll be taking you?”

“Can't I crash at your place?” Marty furrowed his brow. In the dim interior of the vehicle, the full extent of his facial trauma wasn’t evident; the bruises under the boy’s eyes could have merely been the shadowed circles of exhaustion. If Emmett had not known of Marty’s injuries, he might not have immediately perceived them. Well, except for the nasal inflection to the teen’s voice and the faint whistling sound from his nostrils, both a result of the swollen and irritated nose.

Doc moved his hands from the steering wheel, instead running them over his knees. _Better to discuss this now. Better to establish boundaries._ He sighed, then tried again.

“Marty, whatever you told the staff inside, I am not your relative. You have parents, and you should have called them.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Marty’s face, but the expression was so quickly dispelled Emmett wasn’t sure he had actually witnessed it. In fact, the teen now looked mildly impatient. “I told you, Doc, I can’t call them. They aren’t home.”

This was a new wrinkle. “Not home,” Doc repeated.

Marty shook his head with a grim smile. “They’re in Grass Valley at that fancy hotel, the one with the fantasy rooms? They left today after my dad got home from work, and they won’t be back until Sunday.”

Emmett frowned in consternation; he believed he knew of the place, having seen a few brazen commercials. “You must have the number of the hotel, so you can call them in case of an emergency.”

“Yeah, they left a number, but my mom said not to call unless the house burnt down or somebody died.” Marty laughed, but there was little humor in it. “They’ve been trying forever to have this weekend. They were supposed to go there for their anniversary last fall, me and Dave and Linda all gave them money for that, remember?”

Doc see-sawed his hand, nodding. Although it had been several months ago, he thought he could now recall Marty mentioning the cash gift the McFly children had given their parents.

The boy nodded back, then continued. “Yeah, well, my dad screwed it up, he had to cancel because of work.” Marty yawned. “Then they were gonna go last weekend for Valentine’s Day and Dad screwed up again, forgot to get reservations. They finally made it there today – I don’t want to call them and ruin their weekend.”

“I hardly think they’d be upset, once they hear what happened,” Doc pressed.

Marty shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll tell them everything when they get home. On Sunday.”

“But what about your siblings?” Emmett asked, not ready to give in. “Surely one of them would have come to the hospital to pick you up.”

Marty looked closely at the scientist. “My brother and sister? Doc, come on. First, Linda’s out on a date with some sleaze." The seventeen-year-old had taken advantage of her parents' absence to go out with a boy they definitely did not approve of, an unemployed high school drop-out who still had enough money to buy booze and weed. "She’s a minor anyway, and she wouldn’t have been able to sign me out, so forget her. And Dave’s working the closing shift at Burger King. Plus my folks have the car, so Dave getting to the hospital would’ve been rough.“ Marty yawned again, then leaned his head back. “I kind of already figured all this out. You were the only family it made sense to call.” He let his eyes drift shut.

 _Ah. Well. That explains things a bit._ Doc sat back as well, his hands coming together on his lap. _Family._ He had been essentially correct earlier, when he’d told Marty that the hospital should not have been led to believe they were related. Emmett now understood the flicker of disappointment that had passed over Marty’s face at the rebuke. Apparently the teen didn’t consider blood relation a prerequisite, if he regarded the scientist as family.

Emmett didn't have any close family, and hadn't since his parents had passed away, decades ago. Oh, he had cousins out there, he knew, and possibly still a living uncle or aunt somewhere, but no one that he’d seen or spoken to in over ten years. No, his only “family” had consisted of a dog, whether it was Copernicus, Franklin, or Einstein. And now, quite unexpectedly, a fifteen-year-old kid had joined his family. A teenager who, just a year and a half ago, had been merely a passing acquaintance, the youngest son of a couple he’d occasionally see around town. In fact, once David McFly had started working at the Burger King next to his house, Emmett had been more familiar with the older brother than he’d been with Marty.

 _Speaking of. . ._ Doc turned his attention to Marty, who was still resting with his eyes closed. “Marty. Marty?” 

There was no response from the teen. Concerned, Emmett leaned closer to jostle his friend’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Hmm?” Marty opened his eyes slowly; it seemed it took some effort, and Doc saw the bruising was settling in.

“What time does David get off work at Burger King? When he works the closing shift?”

“Huh? What time is it?” Marty smiled crookedly. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“No, that’s not what I asked.” Doc peered into Marty’s face. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked again.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just tired. What did you ask me?”

“I was wondering how long David works at the restaurant.” 

“Dave? Um, when he closes, he’s there until one, I think. Usually gets home at one-thirty or so. Why?”

Doc squinted at the watch on his right wrist. “It is currently 12:32 AM. What I propose we do is head back to my place, and you can rest there a bit. Meanwhile, I’ll go next door and see if I can get a hold of your brother. I know the restaurant will be closed, but someone should come to the door if I knock. Then when David is ready to leave, I will drive you and him both home.”

“Oh. Okay.” Marty looked somewhat disgruntled, and it wasn’t long before Emmett found out why. “Dave’s gonna be pissed. He was planning on enjoying himself tomorrow, without our parents around, and now he’s going to be saddled with taking care of me.”

Doc chuckled, starting the van. “I don’t know, Marty, maybe you’ll be surprised.”

“Yeah. Maybe he won’t be an ass,” Marty muttered quietly. He let his eyes close, curling up as much as his seat belt would allow, and fell into silence. In fact, the next noise he made was a confused mumbling when he felt someone shake his shoulder, saying, “Hey, Marty. Come on, wake up.”

This time when Marty forced his swollen eyes to open, it wasn’t Doc’s face he saw, but his brother’s. Still in his Burger King uniform but with the vest unbuttoned, Dave McFly was in the middle of the van’s front seat, hovering over his injured sibling. “You awake? You okay?”

Marty squinted up. “Dave?” he said, bemused. “Where’d you come from?”

“You’re parked outside my job, squirt.” Dave gestured out the window, in the direction of the fast food restaurant. “I was just getting off work when you guys pulled up.”

“Oh.” Marty still felt like he wasn’t firing on all cylinders. He peered around the van, his eyes taking a while to understand the shapes he was seeing. He could now recognize Doc, still sitting in the driver’s seat, but on the very edge and at an angle, presumably to give Dave more room. The older McFly brother was sitting sideways, perched on one leg, studying Marty gravely. Dave reached out and took Marty’s chin in his hand, tilting his brother’s face so it was illuminated by the closest parking lot light. Even though the light shining through the windshield wasn’t direct, it was enough to irritate Marty’s swollen, sensitive eyes, and he winced audibly.

Dave made a similar sound. “Jesus, Marty,” he hissed, reaching up to tentatively touch his brother’s nose. Marty gasped again. “Shit, Dave!”

“Sorry,” Dave said, quickly dropping his hand. “Did he break it? It looks terrible.”

Doc spoke up from Dave’s other side. “No, it’s not broken, just badly bruised, and he apparently had quite the nosebleed when it happened.” There was the noise of rustling, then Doc spoke again. “I have his papers here from the ER, plus there are some samples of acetaminophen, in case you don't have any at home. The nurse was kind enough to supply those, as it would be hard to find an open store at this hour.”

Dave took the papers and the small packet of pills, not bothering to mention that there was plenty of Tylenol at the McFly house, due to Lorraine McFly's frequent hangovers. Instead, he gestured Marty's face. “What did he do to his eyes? He’s got two big shiners.”

“It's from the injury to his nose; the bruising has spread. It’s common with such injuries.” Emmett leaned slightly past Dave to gaze at Marty. “I think tomorrow it will probably look worse. Icing it should help the swelling. It’s all in the paperwork.”

“I’m right here, guys,” Marty muttered. “You can talk to me.”

Dave grinned, then lightly punched his brother in the shoulder. “Okay, bruiser. You want me to talk to you? Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

Marty blinked in surprise. “Uh, ‘cause you were at work.”

“Big deal,” Dave scoffed. “I think if I’d told them my brother was in a car accident, they woulda let me leave early. I could’ve gotten a ride there. You didn’t have to call Doc and bug him.”

“He didn’t 'bug' me,” Emmett said firmly, more for Marty’s benefit than for Dave’s. “I was glad to help.”

Marty smiled softly in Doc’s direction, but Dave’s next statement caused his smile to flee. “Boy, I can’t wait to call Mom and Dad about this tomorrow,” the older boy said sarcastically.

“No!” Marty protested. “Don’t bother them. I don’t want to screw up their weekend.”

Dave shrugged. “Then you should’ve worn your seat belt.”

Marty looked past Dave to Emmett, and he stared at the scientist with a wounded expression. “Thanks a lot, Doc,” he grumbled, wondering just how much the doc had told Dave before his brother had bothered to wake him up.

“Oh, don’t blame him for telling me,” Dave scolded his brother. “I would’ve found out eventually. And you’re the idiot who didn’t wear his seat belt, so if Mom and Dad come home early, it’s no one’s fault but yours.”

Emmett cleared his throat lightly. “Technically, it’s also the fault of the man who struck Paul’s car,” he said, in an attempt to appease his friend. Marty’s face cleared a bit, and then he looked up at his brother. “Yeah, Dave,” the teen said petulantly.

Dave snorted, but didn’t respond. Instead he addressed Doc. “You sure you’re okay with me cramming in here? I could probably ride in the back.“ 

Emmett shook his head. “No, I have too much equipment back there, and there are no seats. It’s a short trip, we’ll all be fine up here.”

“Okay, I hope you don’t mind I smell like French fries.” Facing front, Dave slid closer to Marty. Emmett adjusted his position so he was directly behind the wheel, then started the ignition.

As all three occupants were slender, the ride from Burger King to the McFly house wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could’ve been. The house appeared dark and quiet; either Linda was in bed, or she was still out (which was much more likely). Instead of parking on the street, Doc pulled into the driveway, so Marty wouldn’t have as far to walk. Marty had his hand on the door latch when Dave reached over quickly, pulling his brother’s hand back. “Stay where you are,” he ordered. Emmett slipped out of the driver’s side and Dave soon followed, running around to the passenger side. He opened Marty’s door, then gestured at him. “Okay, _now_ you can get out.”

Marty glared at his brother as he exited the vehicle. “For Christ’s sake, Dave, I can walk. I hurt my nose, not my feet.”

Dave was unimpressed. “Yeah, but you’re half-asleep. You’ll take a header and Doc will have to haul you back to the emergency room.”

The younger brother’s glower slowly dissolved. He turned from Dave to the scientist standing near him. “Thanks for everything, Doc,” he said.

“Yeah, thanks, Doctor Brown,” Dave chimed in.

Emmett smiled warmly at the brothers. “It was no problem. But you’re welcome.” 

Dave grinned back. Then, grabbing his house keys from his pocket, he stepped up to the dark house.

Marty watched Dave briefly, then looked up at Emmett, frowning slightly. “Uh, Doc, I know I’m supposed to be over to your place to work tomorrow, and – “

Emmett immediately waved his hands, causing Marty to cease his hesitant words. “Don’t bother yourself with that. You take whatever time you need to recover.” Marty nodded, smiling tiredly. “I’ll tell you what you _can_ do for me, though,” Doc added. “I’d like you to call me tomorrow, and let me know how you’re doing.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Dave called from the front stoop. He then jerked his head at his brother, and hooked his thumb toward the now-open door. “C’mon, shrimp, go lie down before you fall down.”

Marty approached the stoop, again scowling. “I’m not an invalid, jerk!”

“No, you’re just invalid.”

“Yeah, well, you’re null and void! “

“Hey, you keep carpin' at me, I’ll call Mom and Dad right now.”

“Don’t let me stop you. You want me to dial?”

“Sure. It’ll probably be the last time you use the phone before you get grounded. So much for your love fest calls with Jennifer.”

“Screw you, Dave!”

**_"Boys!"_ **

Doc’s harsh tone caused the brothers to pause in their arguing, and they turned in sync, their faces showing identical expressions of surprise. “I don’t think your neighbors appreciate the two of you squabbling on your front steps at 1:30 in the morning,” Emmett said sternly, his voice low.

Dave and Marty both dropped their heads; surprise was overtaken by shame. Dave took off his Burger King visor and fiddled with it while Marty kicked idly at the front step.

“Sorry, Doc.”

“Sorry about that, Doc Brown.”

Emmett nodded once, answering with a firm, “All right, good.” Then he smiled. “Good night, you two.”

The brothers responded in kind, before Dave took Marty by the shoulder and propelled him into the house. Doc could hear Marty’s squawk of protest before the front door shut, and the scientist’s smile grew into a grin. He was still grinning when he climbed into his van, and he chuckled to himself most of the way home.

**_END_ **


End file.
